Revolverman, so was his name,
paid for by cold blood and shame
One just childhood lost for might
a lone man bears his cost to fight
A crass soul forget to leave his heart
apart to have the killing art.
No one born to slay his guard;
revolverman, a soul is scarred.
The days of his were much facile,
he did not hold nor crave a while.
A focused mind left time in blur,
like lotus pearls his deeds occured.
Whatever he went go to see,
he'd go alone and so he'd leave.
Who saw him, had no time to flee;
revolverman meant: cease to be.
No human love had time to grow.
No human dared a love to show.
Revolverman, he went alone;
he needed not and searched no home.
One day he was to Mandys town.
Found the one girl he found worth to have.
And mayor Mandy wrothly frowned;
she was promised to his hand.
They'd lain down at the rivers hand
and spent a night to understand
a fire that had taken them
and forced their bodies there to meld.
They woke up shocked by memories
that had lost their touch to reality
as they touched each others fantasies
and lived like this through both their feelings second genesis.
And their last time woke the early birds
and their last kiss spoke a million words.
And both knew they had someway changed;
and it felt right, yet felt so strange.
And neither knew, when said goodbye,
that promises would turn out lies.
Mandy took her by surprise
and burned her and the revolverman could hear her cry
from far away.
The riverbed stole him a tear.
Her life had come to his so near.
The paths that crossed were redivided,
the will to kill again ignited.
At daylights time the town awoke
when the sound of angry bullets stroke
across the streets and Mandys boys began
to realize the gross dolor of the revolverman.
Most curious heads flew off their spine
and mothers had no time to cry
as all their sons were taken by
the devils favorite lullaby.
And flowery bloodstreams spread the desert.
And peoples limbs proclaimed the hazard.
Made known that not a hundred soldiers can
walk over the gross dolor of the revolverman.
The major prayed for mercy for his plan.
He barely spoke the words
as all the redwood in the guildhall got another reddish tan.
Now knew the past chief of that clan:
No pity could outgun the gross dolor of the revolverman.
And dead men lay all around the ground
and the children of the place held no more sound.
And the sky would cry for days to clean
the streets the revolverman had seen.

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